


Silk on Silk on Silk

by Suffer Bravely (Shamu)



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamu/pseuds/Suffer%20Bravely
Summary: What if Emperor had said 'Yes' to her, just once?Seladon shares an uncomfortable meal at the Skesis table.





	1. Chapter 1

It was not the first time she had been invited to sit at the dining table, but it was the first that she had accepted.

She hid beneath her crown, her head tipped so that the spirals of deep black claw and tooth could be presented to the world. Her eyes cast downwards, shadowed into dark slits beneath her heavy lashes. There was no reason for her to act this way - downtrodden, ashamed, a poor girl overwhelmed by what was only her duty - these were guises that had long been exorcised from her body. However, at this dinner table... all the rules she had once learned were turned on their head. It was not that she was afraid, she told herself, it was that this posture was the one expected of her.

Shrieking filled her ears from all sides. A cacophony that would never have been permitted at her mother’s- no, the previous All Maudra’s - no, that turncoat’s court. Feculent language spewed from mouths suited to the sewer - but this was no sewer, this was the highest table in all the land. And no matter what she thought of it, it was their right to behave in whatever way they so desired. In whatever way _he_ permitted.

And _he_ sat by her side. She saw only his fingers - flexing on the table, curling into a fist and banging with joviality at some joke or another, occasionally picking at food, though, it seemed his appetite was quite restrained. Not unlike hers, she supposed - as she stared back down at her meagre pickings of some fruit that the Gourmand had not bothered to name.

But as much as he laughed - his voice just one dark shadow cast in a sea of confusing shapes - she would not engage in such frivolities. No, not at this occasion - her head kept so perfectly still, her body sitting on a chair that swayed embarrassingly as it perched precariously on whatever thick tomes the Scroll Keeper resentfully parted with. No, on this outing, she would keep herself in... her place. Out of the conversation, not drawing attention to herself, holding herself with grace and... dignity, a precious, prized ornament - the very best role she could hope for.

And as her chest swelled at the thought, at the hope that - yes, she could do this, that this - all of this - would be worth it in the end... the shrieking grew louder, his body began to sway, long fingers tipped with dinner claws unfurling - excitement visible in the tremble of his finger. She dared cast a glance upwards, and to her surprise and with gasp only barley contained in her throat, his face loomed down towards her. His expression was unreadable, but then - the tremble in his fingers, the way his face loomed closer...

“Yes, bring the Princess some!”

His laughter - sharp, yapping, raspy - imprinted on her face, and she failed to see the humour in any of this. Still, her face contorted pleasantly, shaped itself just as it was meant to, and she said,  
  
“Of course, anything you give me is received with my humblest gratitude. This fruit, it is...”   
  
She trailed off as he stopped paying attention to her, his silver of his beak a slash in the air as a cry of protest rose from the other end of the table.

“We can’t waste precious essence on a GELFLING!”

She followed the direction of his beak - pointing like a silver arrow, like a knife - straight towards General. The other Skesis chattered and murmured, though none seemed to make up their mind enough to agree. 

“Well... if it is truly precious, my most pragmatic Emperor, then ... There is no need to spare such resource on me...”

Her voice pined, her eyes cast sliding back to him. General... her guts squirmed, she supposed she should be thankful to him, no matter his thoughts on her. He was the reason she took this chair so young, after all.

She held her breath as well as her tongue. After all, she had been made more than used to this kind of humiliation. How often had mother simply sat back and let officials knit-pick at her posture, tease her awkward wording - or worse, share in the joke with her, swap a gaze or a smile of held-back, patronising laughter whenever she braved herself enough to speak her tongue.

But this was not her mother’s court.

“This is not any _Gelfling_, General. She is the _All Maudra_,” Emperor laughed and she felt the way his tongue played with her title, like it was a plaything in his mouth. “An All Maudra who plays Skesis, who sits at our table, who sits by my side.” 

General snorted, though she could only imagine the state of his face. The Skesis shuffled in their seats, the laughter that had once infected the air now turned soured and heavy.   
  
“But, Emperor...” Scientist remarked - his voice even dimmer as it scratched from the far-side of the table. “We do not know the effects it would have on her body - she is _of_ Thra, so...”   
  
They... was he really insisting...? Her gaze widened, then - eyes wide like hope but in slipped fear. The rumours were true, then. They drained Gelfling, and...   
  
“You, afraid of an experiment, Scientist?”

Emperor guffawed, his fingers now tapping on the table.

They drained Gelfling and drank their essence. This much was true. This much was true, but...

“No, Emperor - I...”

“It is wasted on her! Wouldn’t it be worse if it worked?” General boomed, and Emperor’s gaze once again slit the air.

Yes. They drained them, but what other dark secrets did she not know? What secrets did the commoners only dream of, while they wore their taxed jewels round their necks, wedding veils round their heads?

“... _Worse?_”

She heard the bite in his voice, saw the cold narrowing his eye.

“She may rule a hundred trine, a thousand with me!”

(She would see him, later, and know this could not be true. Not for her own body, that felt more alive than it had ever been - but because she heard him in the dead of night, retching. He thought he was alone in this - she made sure of that, not because she was afraid of his embarrassment, but because she knew what it was like to be caught by a pitiful gaze when she was busy trying to ebb out her soul into the night, red eyed and filled with sorrow meant only for herself. He was quiet, so forcibly quiet, in his wheezing, in his weeping.)  
  
The Skesis laughed at this, howling, even. General baulked, feathers on his head flailing, but as he leaned his weight over the table, mouth open and prepared to speak - Emperor rose to his full height, a black mass of silk on silk rising skyward.   
  
“Stop! No more of this!”   
  
The room went silent.   
  
“Bring. The Princess. Essence. NOW.”  
  
She hid her head again as Scientist scrambled out of the room, his heavy feet and cloth scraping along the floor. He..  
  
He was embarrassing himself.   
  
For _her_?

Spoke of a - what did he mean, a hundred trine, a _thousand_? Her face flushed - was it so that she could be his joke, his talking point, his gilded toy forever?

(Later, she would learn just what she represented. When he held her face in his gnarled hands, his skin full of potholes that her soft flesh tried to fill, when he gazed at her a whitehot gaze she learned was full of jealousy. How he wanted her skin, all that skin, all that youthful beauty. Before he would drag her down into silks upon silks upon silks, an undulating sea of fabric where she could finally - _finally_ \- slip free and let loose herself.)

Of course, he had lifespans upon lifespans braided into his layers, into his skin. Those clothes he wore.. they must have dwarfed her lifespan. And though she had been present to the forging of her own crown - he, too, must have been for his - crafted from materials so rare she was not even sure it existed in the earth anymore. That was what Brea had taught her, after all... among many things, none of which really mattered here. A thousand trine... she was nothing but a blip, a scratch of chalk on a long, dark blackboard. How many memories did he have coiled in the curves of his mind? How many versions of her - terrified, scared, _bitter_ little girls did he keep in there?  
  
“Get out.” He snapped, sitting down and running nail over nail, patiently waiting as General struggled to get out of his seat. “GO!”   
  
_None,_ of course.

Because those would not be worth remembering. And he did not see her as a terrified, scared, bitter little girl.

He saw her as a _Princess_.

She smiled at him, her gaze defiant through her own mixed emotions.

He gazed back at her, eyes narrowing into what might have been a smile.

He’d fought for her.

Her gaze lifted, and she gazed round that table. Every Skesis refused to meet her eyes - cowered away from it, in fact. Glancing between themselves, towards Emperor.   
  
Her smile split into the thinnest of grins.

Yes.

This was power she’d never had. Power her mother had never given her.

He lifted a hand and placed it, heavy, on her head.

She closed her eyes as he lifted the glass to her mouth, fingers in her hair straining to keep her in place. But he did not have to restrain her. He did not have to force her.

“_Drink_.”

She slid her eyes open as the liquid bubbled at her lips, as his command rippled through her skin.

And drank.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tries to find her place - but instead, she only finds herself.

In a court so dominated by men, she found Ornamentalist’s presence a relief. She even dressed as noble Vapran women would - or, at least, like a jester’s caricature of one. Oozing jewels, feather and softness. A homely sense of regality, even if she bore that same shrieking voice that every Skeksis spoke in.

She could only imagine what Brea would think of her. Some snide remark about those poor birds who died for her cloak - but what good would their feathers do them now, if not to shine pristine and brilliant down her shoulders? The bodies they’d once belonged to were long dust now. If only they had the sense to bargain.  
  
Or perhaps they had - attempted, that was. Seladon smiled to herself. Yes. The Emperor had listened to her for a reason. It was what she had dedicated her entire life to, after all. Not like books, or the blade - no, she had learned sacrifice. She had learned diplomacy. She had learned _ survival_.  
  
And they would survive, because of her. They would. It would not be her skin that would be stretched and tanned over a Skesis back.

She held her thoughts steady, her breath fraying. Yes. She had to keep her composure. She had come to build bridges, not sit in some dusty bedchamber and obsess with her own brilliance. Now was the time for doing, and once she tasted it, she could not have enough of it.

“Oh, and what brings a creature as ug-“ Ornamentalist frowned, gloved hands covering her mouth. “Ugh, as. Well, preciously... ah, _Gelfling_-ly as you to my chamber?”

“Forgive me for intruding, my Lord.” She bowed her head respectfully, Ornamentalist flinching away from her. She had to admit, it gave her some satisfaction. To think, a Skeksis, afraid of a Gelfling? It was a funny image. But, of course, she had a holy aura around her. Inside of her. She looked up at her, smiling tightly. “I was... hopeful, that you, in all your grace, might spare some time for me.”

Ornamentalist’s fingers were still on either side of her mouth.

“Ah, I suppose - very well, one can’t help but desire my presence, after all!” She tapped her fingers ruefully along her teeth, long lashes flashing like the wavering wings of a bird.  
  
“And, my Lord, please refer to me by my proper title. I am no more creature than you.”

The fluttering escalated into a flap, desperately trying to gain height when the winds were against her. “Title? Ohh. You mean your silly, made up words. Princess - ah! In fact, I rather like the way it sounds. Don’t you think such a title is better suited to one more fair and graceful?”

She narrowed her eyes, the Ornamentalist’s earlier hesitation causing strength to fill her.

“It is good, then, that that is not my title. It is true, my Lord. I have outgrown it.”

Still, it was the word Emperor insisted on using for her. (She assumed it was to demean her, to ensure she was always one great step beneath him. She would learn with time. The way he spoke to her in symbols, steam rolled out her out into that long, youthful word that implied promise, potential not yet realised, a day dream yet to be spoiled.)  
  
“Ohhh ~ Then you mean, ah, yes! All Maudra!” She giggled, flattening her hands over her ruff, rubbing the material. “All Maudra, All Maudra, All Maudra,” she sang, turning the title that silenced the tongues of her people in awe into a childish rhyme.  
  
“Yes. That is correct. I... appreciate, your understanding.”

“There are many things about you, All Maudra_aaa_, that I simply do not understand,” Ornamentalist stated, drawing herself back from the doorframe. “Come in, then. Come in.”  
  
She waved her in, and Seladon stepped into a world beyond her understanding.

So unlike the minimalism of Ha’rar’s architecture, this room emptied itself out into a vomit of things. Shining things, brilliant things, baubles and trickets and furs and skins - the scent of perfumes, stale and dried and moulded, mixed melodies in the air. There was no space free of clutter, of embroidered furniture etched in gold finishings - edges only winking under layers and layers of clothing scattered about.

In her surprise, parts of the room seemed to be moving. As though the objects themselves had amassed in such density that they had finally come alive - in truth, Seladon almost believed her eyes, who else but the Skesis could command the inanimate to come to life? But no. It was just simple Podlings, rushing around their feet and offering up faintly smelling powders.

“Ohhh, do go away. None of that will be enough to improve her to my standard, now will it?” Ornamentalist chuckled before her watery eyes gleamed towards her. “So. Will you tell me now, All Maudra, why - oh yes, why - you have deigned to grace my presence?”  
  
“Well, my Lord. In truth...” She waved a hand dismissively towards the Podling, her face sharpening. “I know very little about... about what it means to be a Lady in this court.” She gazed up at her, watching the confusion begin to curl at the edges of her eyelashes. “You must understand, in my ... previous life, it was customary for a woman to take the throne. To rule, one must be able to fly above them all.”  
  
She twitched her wings for effect, though she felt a sudden unease with the way Ornamentalist’s face lit up when she did. A gleam of ... fascination in her eyes. She remembered her promise to herself, hands crossing over one another, fingers brushing soft skin.  
  
“So you see, I had hoped to learn from you, as a lady...”  
  
The Ornamentalist grinned, drumming her fingers across her cheeks, laughter croaking out of her. “And what makes you think that I am a lady?”

Seladon stopped, eyes widening to her mistake.

“And just what makes you think Emperor is a man?”

They narrowed their eyes, lashes curling together in a sharp nest of bristles.

“He hasn’t already shown you what’s under his cloak, has he?! Ohh, that naughty, naughty skekSo ~!” Their faux gasp caused Seladon to shudder, her face darkening. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, after that display! Oh! I don’t believe skekOk and I have had such fun gossiping in trine!”

She herself shuddering back into cold reality, all that warmth disappearing into her stomach, twisting it in knots.

"No? He hasn't? Well! If it is help understanding the ways of the body that you are needing..."

No. There was no connection here. Of course there was not. Ornamentalist was no more a lady than they were a Vapran - these words, these terms she tried to box the Skeksis into... they defined them at every turn. There was nothing familiar in this... 

Yet, if she was to become one of them...

“Then," she snaked away from the topic. "How would you prefer to be addressed?”

Ornamentalist cooed at this, no longer drumming their cheeks - instead leaning towards Seladon, their whole face lit up with glee.  
  
“Silly, isn’t it? To assume these things. We Skeksis, we are long past all of that. It was you who called us ‘_Lord’_, it was you who called us ‘_he_’.”

He spread his fingers out, excitement bubbling over his face. “So we are whatever you see us as! To one another, we are but names and titles and our trinkets. Which is why I am the most beautiful of them all, for I have the most wonderful of all three.”

Seladon tightened her wings, pressing the silk of her gown into her back. “Then you shall address me the same, in turn.”  
Ornamentalist drew her head back, mouth open. “I am to do - what?”

“You shall call me All Maudra, Lord, he,” she held her head high, straightened her shoulders. “You shall call me by my title, and.you shall know me by more than my trinkets.”  
  
“Ohh, and what of your name -“ Ornamentalist giggled, though a nervousness seized the edges of his voice, his podling gathering around him. “skekGelf?”  
  
“No, skekSel,” she spat back, without thought, surprising herself. Ah, but it was too late. It was stated now, her fantasy come real, but she fought against shame, stared hard against memories of her mother’s dismissive laughter, chiding her for such childish claims.  
  
“... Very well, Lord All Maudra skekSel he,” Ornamentalist feigned a bow - dipping his head into his collar. “Very, very well!”

And despite his mockery, Seladon felt her chest clench. No. This was nothing like her mother’s laughter. This was the same mockery of the jester, of the lowly comic - mockery made not with power, but with envy.

She nodded, sweeping past the Ornamentalist without a glance over her shoulder.

His voice followed her down the corridor, a cowl of laughter wrapped round her shoulders.

* * *

It was not then that her transformation was made complete, however.

No.

She had already been permanently altered.

Not by the flickering of flames as the wick of her mother’s body gave out.

Not by Fara’s accusations and traitorous scorn.

Not by the look in her sister’s eyes as they looked at her in utter dismay, disbelief, _hatred_.

No, not at all. It was the taste of that essence, Emperor’s fingers clutching tightly round her skull as he tipped the glass more and more and more until she swallowed every drop of it, choked on it, dribbled it down her face.

Death. She was tasting death. Boiled bodies, dissolved before the crystal, the taste of denial turning to truth, of every single hope and dream and thought and moment boiled down into pure, distilled essence.  
  
It tasted sweet.  
  
Like honey.

Like sugarwine, like moonberry juice, like - like, _acceptance. _

It did not matter why Emperor looked at her now - a face full of disgust, a face full of admiration. It did not matter that she was dripping death, soaking in it, heaving for breath as the glass smashed on the ground. It did not matter that the Skeksis were screaming at her for wasting it, wasting this life, wasting what could have been theirs - because.  
  
Because.  
  
It was not _why_ he wanted her.  
  
It was_ that_ he _wanted_ her.

His face opened then, split in two, and she saw white as his mouth swallowed her face. She had tasted death, it was only right then, wasn’t it - that he give it to her. She couldn’t scream against this cruel joke, couldn’t even laugh with them as - he.

He did not kill her.

He _licked_ her.

The essence, the essence on her face - he, he licked it clean from her chin - tongue hard and cold and slipped so quickly from his mouth and across hers that she thought it stung.

It was over in a moment - the other Skeksis gathering around her, beaks and claws clutching at her clothes as they pried for any drop of essence she spilled. And even as he chased them away, yelling hot scorn - she sat, dazed, eyes blank, the taste - his touch - still violent in her mouth.

And then.

The swell.

This room full of people who wanted her - wanted, wanted because they were told to - wanted in spite of themselves, because of his command, because of his mouth hanging death all around her, crowning her in it. He had... in front of all of them, declared this dominion. Made her untouchable.

Yes.

Her eyes widened, her heart hammered, her smile ripped across her face and laughter screamed out of her body - high and wild and free. And they were all laughing, too. “_More! Get more_!” As Scientist poured cup after cup round the table, all their faces melding into one like the turrets of this castle - and you know, when it all blurred and spun and there was only laughter, Emperor lifting her above the table, balancing his cup on her chest, eating from her - of all of them, only him eating from her- she did not feel afraid. She could not. She spread her fingers out towards the room, giggling like a child while he used her as a table, while they played killing, played death. 

Because in this moment, she felt for the first time that she could never die. 

And in the heavy blur, she felt them swill together. All of them. Titles, names, race be damned. They were one and the same.

They were one and the same.

Just silk on silk on silk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews! I am still getting used to their voices and mannerisms, but MAN, I am having so much fun with this. 
> 
> As always, any feedback is immensely appreciated. Thank you again!


	3. Chapter 3

“The Stonewood Clan... are traitors, my Lords. Take them.”

She had offered on that night, her gift to them, a dream to sate their snarling maws. Soft and fleshy, a sacrifice well worth making.  
  
“They are the root of these... wicked, cruel rumours.” (that were not rumours at all, she knew - but truth could still be wicked, could still be cruel.)  
  
“And, chief among them is a Maudra who refuses to accept my dominion - worse, your dominion.”  
  
And so, she gave up those who were oh-so-brave and oh-so-hard of head, hard of heart. They would die with noble ideals still sweet on their foolish mouths, they would die with the honour they so professed to have. It was fair, this way.

"So take them all, if it so pleases you. For the sake of peace."  
  
Their lives, that they were so quick to throw away, in exchange for those who had real living to do.

And Seladon... she had much to live for. She, the Vapran... even her sisters. If there was any hope of redemption, it lay within their cultured heads. The fact that Emperor had agreed to her sacrifice, the fact that he had placed her within the very jaws of death, that circle of knives surrounding her like a barbed and twisted halo, and chosen her to_ live_ \- chosen her to _lead_!

Yes! She had much to be proud of. So much more things to be proud of than to fret over a few lying, bitter idiots who still worshiped her foul, _stupid_ mother’s memory.  
  
She curled her lips, dipped her head, slid towards the throne room. Music that sounded like war drums and half-aborted screams echoed down the long and hollow corridors. She followed it, that stirring thrum of war that grew louder than her being, immersing herself in it. Yes, the kind of music that made the perfect backdrop for what was happening beyond these walls.  
  
Emperor had forgiven General. It was only pragmatic, as he always was. His head nodding as she burbled in her Essence-induced state, asking what would become of him, expressing that - in her court, in her old court, such outbursts would surely signify an exile. Disappointingly, he was more merciful than the Vapran ways and said that, “He will get his fill, soon enough. Don’t worry.” As though she had fretted over him, as though she had not wished that an insult on her name, a question of her place could have led punishment irreparable.

But he had slid his hand through her hair, then, and all protest vanished from her.

General would be heading towards Stone-in-the-Wood, now. Soon, there would be more Essence on the Skesis table, spilling from every cup.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the memory his jaws looming over her, his tongue lashin-

She stepped into the throne room, that squirming, awful feeling swallowed away.

She stared at him, waiting to be addressed. Yet, he did not move - the music droning on and on, as though bathing him in it.  
  
Ah. She realised, then, by the crook of his head and his utter silence... he was asleep. It was strange, to see him sleep. As though she was looking at something she was forbidden from, an unbearably private and intimate thing - and yet, even as she thought to turn to leave, she felt herself drawn over the marbled flooring.  
  
She had never seen her mother sleep.  
  
She was always so... poised.  
  
But Emperor - he lay now, slouched and coiled up like an insect freshly swatted. When he was awake he had looked as though he was made of knives, of bone that was trying desperately to burst free of its prison. Knives jutted from his neck, from his fingers, from his mouth that, in of itself, was nothing but one great knife - serrated and poorly serviced, just endless layers of points and killing edges. Even his gaze was knife-like, his eyes cold and steeled, white as though they were the only thing freshly polished, freshly sharpened.

But now, he slept, and it was as though no sense of death inhabited him. She approached, steadily, slowly drinking in his appearance. She found that looking at a Skesis was like travelling to a foreign country, or getting lost in the Ornamentalist’s room - detail so overwhelming that it was hard to focus on any one thing, as though the features all got lost in their own absurdness. But now, she saw - the long eye lashes, the basket on his back that - she recoiled - contained another pair of limbs, at rest.

How many layers did they have to them?  
  
She would have to collect more - more and more, weigh herself down in these silks.  
  
She continued to stare at him, her feelings blurring, his mouth burning a hole in her memory, her cheeks flushing as the taste of Essence once again filled her mouth. How embarrassingly she had acted, how deeply her head hurt, how terrified she was, of all this.  
  
Of all of him.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she leapt out of herself, a gasp audibly scratching the air but under the din of that cacophony.  
  
Scroll Keeper curled around her, now pulling on her shoulder as he hissed at her to “_Be quiet! Shhhh!!!_”

She, rather more forcibly than she intended, wrenched her shoulder away from his hand. His hissing was far louder than her gasp, she might have added - but, alas, decorum and deference were what was needed from her now. Nodding, she followed his motioning hand as he bumbled out of the room.

When they were at a distance deemed safe enough, Scroll Keeper turned to her, three pairs of glasses catching gold from the sunset outside.  
  
“Whatever did you think you were doing?”  
  
She did not appreciate his tone.  
  
“I was simply admiring our Lord at rest. It is not something I ever expected to see. As a child, the way I thought of you Skeksis, well. You are almost mythical in your eminence. I did not know that sleep was something you needed.”

“Hmmm? Well, then. Has all this watching you’ve been doing helped dispel some of sense of ‘mythical eminence’?”  
  
She could hear the dagger in his tone, as high-pitched and unassuming as he tried to cloak it.

“Of course not. My fascination only grows the more I understand.”

“We do not act so that we may be _understood_,” Scroll Keeper mumbled, looking oddly pleased with himself. “But, please. All Maudra, I am sure there are _teething_ pains with any adjustment, yes?”

While she felt a flicker of approval in the way he said her title without irony, his emphasis on teeth brought back the circlet of knives. Ah.  
  
“Yes, Ornamentalist was... keen to mention that you two had, taken a special interest in my integration.”  
  
He fumbled for a while, his voice like the squeaking of an unoiled door. In fact, everything about him reminded her of grand old libraries and dusty old books. The way he rustled and bumbled with a complete lack of self-awareness, his ruffling that sounded like the turning of pages, his weathered skin and thin layer of spider-webbed hair... he reminded her of Brea and everything she loved. Her books and her knowledge and her self-importance - how many books of his had she owned? His penmanship lodged in her brain, writing in the spaces.  
  
Too bad it had not been convincing enough.  
  
“And, Scroll Keeper, I must admit. I have a special interest in your thoughts regarding recent turn of events.”  
  
“Is that so? Oh, how exciting. I did not know you were the type to have an interest for anyone outside of yourself,” he tilted his head. “Ah! No, forgive me! I speak out of turn, mighty skekSel.” 

“You do.”

She held down her tongue, her indignity.

The sleeping Emperor. The jaws of death surrounding her. She could survive better than Scroll Keeper’s petty judgements.  
  
“However, I understand. As I said, I have been meditating on your circumstance. Has my sister’s betrayal been hard on you?”  
  
She watched with great satisfaction as he ruffled on the spot, long beak held open for a snap.  
  
“... It is certainly a pity, to see a Gelfling who thought herself so intelligent, to fall so far from grace. Yes. A pity indeed. She showed such promise.”  
  
Yes. Brea, Tavra - it was they who possessed promise. She possessed only a dominion of disappointment, something they still saw all over her.  
  
But then, Scroll Keeper tilted his head, his tiny eyes narrowing.  
  
“There is no need for you to act so unkindly towards me, skekSel. I am one of the few who has found your presence... fascinating. It would a pity, a great, great pity to lose my support. After all, it will be I who pens this story for those who will follow you, those who will imagine your rise, or, your treachery.”

“I am flattered by your support... and your threat.”

"Plus, it is wonderful to finally have one amoung our ranks who is... shorter than I."

He smirked, a claw wrapping its way around one of the threads that connected his foremost pair of spectacles to his head. He wound it, round and round, like a string of fate.  
  
“I admit, I am far more fond of you than I was of your dear, late mother. She played her part too well, don’t you think? Oh so long-suffering and wise, obedience but a mask for gritted teeth.”

She paused at this, considering his words, urging him to go on. “And how will you pen her story?”

“One of treachery, of course,” he nodded, beak twitching. “Oh, how unkind history will be towards such a disappointment of an All Maudra! We Skesis truly trusted in her, believed in her so! What a shock! A betrayal! After everything we have given her, bribes and trinkets that she demanded in her greed. But it was never enough!”  
  
Never, never had anyone dared speak to her in such jaded tones about her mother - sharp and pointed and cruel. Even Brea, in her flippancy and frustration - she would always reign it in when it came to her own complaints. Tavra’s gentle understanding, trying to get her to see the other side, not understanding that all she had ever wanted was...  
  
“Yes, you are right. It was _never_ enough for her.” 

“Such a greedy Gelfling!”

“Just like the Stonewood Clan.”

“Just like the Stonewood!”

“And the Drenchen.”

“And the Drenchen!”

He cawed a little more, fingers balling into fists as he trembled in excitement.

“Yes! So many greedy little Gelfling - I am glad you understand, All Maudra.”

“I am the one who had to live with them, after all,” she smiled, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh, I have no idea how you coped!”

Laughing, she allowed the slit of a chuckle, her head bowed.

“No, neither did I.”

> * * *

  
Later, when sunset poured through the cracks in the windows - golden and brilliant light that seemed so ill suited for all things dust and shadow, she watched as Maudra Fara was brought to her knees.  
  
The Skeksis chittered and Emperor’s hand idly lost itself in her hair, Essence coursing through both their veins from just moments ago, moments before this ‘trial’.

Fara did not weep. Did not ask for forgiveness. Did not beg.

She only looked up at Seladon and asked,

“Whatever would your _mother_ think?”

And it was Emperor who answered, voice thick and leathery, moving through the air like a thick bellied snake, “She should have been proud,” and he dripped that last word like venom, laughter piercing the air.

“It was pride that killed her, in the end,” Seladon said, eyes half focussing, flitting away from Fara’s gaze and leaning in to Emperor’s vauge hum of agreement.  
  
“And it will be pride that undoes you, Fara,” she said, her belly sizzling.

And though the burning in her stomach, the constant churning that seemed to underpin it all - with every action that she took, with every step that made it real - the more she felt in control of it. The more it felt like hers.  
  
Turning to General, she smiled - a steady, slow smile. Emperor’s fingers still knotted in her hair, and the room swirled and pulsed, her body drinking from it all.  
  
“_Drain it_,” she hissed, felt his fingers seize excitedly, felt the shudder travel between them, shudder through the chattering Skeksis, shudder through Fara.

She thought she smelled the fire burning, the cold mountain air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! This one was a little rushed and there are segments that I had wished I had expanded on a bit more - and I think I need to inject a bit more, ah... joy? into this - but I'm hoping as Seladon gets more accustomed we can get more varied interactions. 
> 
> Thank you again! Feedback is always, always appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

The more she drank the more she felt as though she were falling.

Laughter fell down around her like a veil, pouring over her head - sharp and hollow and euphoric all at once. She felt it, their laughter, rippling in the air - sounds louder than her entire frame, ripping the fabric of the room.

And that’s what this room was, now. Fabric. Stretched tight in places, wavering like ocean-water in others. Blurred and torn in places, ultra sharp and painful to look upon in others. She could see, now, how they all wove together like a tapestry. Their frills and their endless layers of clothing and their loud, impossible laughter - all folding in on one another, all folding in around her.  
  
She drank more of Fara’s essence, tasted the earth and the sharp joy of victory, every single moment that defined her turned liquid and sweet in her mouth. Was this memories of her mother she was tasting, too? The one she so admired, so _adored_. Oh Fara. Oh poor, loyal Fara.  
  
She wondered if she would get sick, drinking emotions like this. Fara pulsing in her bloodstream, trying to convince her to put emotions above duty, to sow discord instead of harmony.

“How does it feel?”

She hears his voice, his beak piercing through the fabric, bursting it open, shreds of it still caught in his teeth as he stared down at her.  
  
“Like dreamfasting,” she gasped, though the memories were not memories at all, no clarity in them. Just the taste of the feeling, of the sun glinting off of armour, the sensation of running her hand through a Fizzgig’s soft fur, the satisfaction of throwing away a blade no longer needed with the promise of peace setting her heart to kindle.

Her eyes rolled, the table zooming up to meet her face until he catches it. Tilts her head back up towards him, until he’s the only thing she can see. Soup, porridge, stone-wood brew sparkling inside of her, like a hearth that had been set alight on a cold winter’s day. She squinted, these emotions overlaying his face, this sense of home unthreading her.  
  
“Like... dream_feasting_,” she laughed then, laughed despite herself, laughed at her own cruelty, at the sweet ecstasy of having never lost-a-fight, having challenged the All-Maudra, having belief in herself so strong that it could eclipse the sun.  
  
And he laughed, too - just a cruel, deep throated and pensive.   
  
“Cannibal,” he called her, saying it like it was her name, sweet and gooey. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do to please me?”   
  
“Of course not,” she answered in a breath. “But that is not why I do this. I... do this, to please myself.”   
  
He grunted at that, approvingly, his nails interlacing and forming a crown round her head.   
  
“Then perhaps you really are more Skekis than Gelfling.”

She opened her mouth to that, wanted to stuff his approval inside of her and break it down into her bloodstream like Fara’s memories, wanted it more than anything.   
  
“Then, won’t you say it?”   
  
Her eyes widened, her hands lifting to meet his own, fingers following along to the joint of his knuckles, his skin growing warmer. Two crowns, at once. Anointed.   
  
“Say what?” He demanded, eyes tracking her fingers.   
  
“My name.” 

He laughed again - this time short and fast, half-gasped. Fara’s memories still pulsed round her in a steady throb, her mouth opening slightly, her breath quickening.  
  
“So, this is the game you insist on playing until your end?”

“Does it offend you, my Lord?” She hummed, fingers slipping to his wrists. “This _playing_?”

He snorted again, breath humming in his throat for a while. “Bah, there is nothing left that offends me, anymore.”  
  
“Except the sight of Scientist’s face, correct?” She dared, mouth trembling as she leaned forwards.  
  
It worked.  
  
She felt his laughter before it poured out of him, his head tilting as he admired her own face a little longer, “That pathetic excuse for an eye _is_ offensive. Whenever he speaks to me in the darker regions of the castle it threatens to blind me.”   
  
She heard his words, laughed politely at his joke, and knew that she had already earned a place above the Scientist. One seat climbed, and so long as he would recognise her as one of them, then...

“Allow me the burden, then. There is no reason for you to ever have to see him directly. I remember the pain of endless meetings with Gelfling who could not keep their fingers out of their noses or... well, it’s embarrassing to say, my Lord - but nor could they keep their _smell_ to themselves. To face the glare of Scientist’s eye... it is a dream in comparison.”  
  
He murmured to himself, a ‘Ha’ at her commentary, a brief nod as he understood. “There will be no end to that plague. There are plenty Skesis who smell, Princess. skekTek spends much of his time thinking and working and thinking and worrying. I forget the last time I saw him join us in the baths.”   
  
Before she could answer, he turned his face away, looking vaguely contemplative.   
  
“Then again, it has been a while since I have been able to smell much at all.”

She wanted to ask. Oh, she desperately did - but she felt something in his voice, something that she knew not to pick at. Instead, she leaned forwards, up his chest, touched a hand to the side of his face and watched as he recoiled in surprise, eyes sharpening as he swung his head back towards her.  
  
“My mother told me once... that we Vapran have a unique scent, one that most pleases our Lords,” she felt her eyes darken, fingers moving down the length of his jaw. “Is it true, can you smell it now?”   
  
Was that Fara screaming?   
  
His expression darkened, the knitted crown atop her head collapsing, nails touching the edge of her scalp, reaching down the back of her head.   
  
His voice lost its sorrow, lots its joviality. It shifted, dark and coiled, deep in his throat. “... Skeksis do not have mothers.”

Realising her mistake, her fingers froze.

“We were not born one from two. We were two from one.”

She did not understand what he meant, what he could possibly mean. She had no idea... had not even thought about the fact that their numbers never changed, that they could once have one young, hatched and fresh and cradled in some soft crowing arms. No mother, no father - but not cast from nothing.

(She would learn, later, when she learned to crawl through that endless pit of black ink and knife edges - that he was once made of light, of pulsing stars and a bright sky that would have blinded her with awe. He was an eclipse, the last burning embers of that no-longer-self flickering white in the oval of his eye.)

“Tell me, Princess,” he tilted his head, genuine curiosity lifting his brow. “Would you ever want to return to your mother?”

It was a strange question - he knew that she was dead, but. Perhaps he meant in Thra’s earthy embrace, reunited as one incomplete, shattered whole. She pulled herself towards his face, “oh, Emperor. There would be no possibility of that.” her eyes curling into dark slits.

“I _burned_ her body.”

Her shoulder brushed under his jaw and she felt his mouth snap, a sound shaking through him.

“And ever since, I have felt myself split in two. Our symbol, it is a unimoth - after all. A rare and unique sight, to see a lowly, wriggling worm transformed into something... much higher, much more... beautiful.”

“So won’t you... _please... Say it_,” she begged, felt his mouth scrape against her back, leaned her neck against a stray tooth, “I have earned it, haven’t I?”

She gasped as he opened his jaws, the word breezing past her hot and quickly after such a long, agonising pause.   
  
_“Fine._”

Cannibal. Mother killer. Queen of the dead.

“I acknowledge you, _skekSel_.”

She slipped into his silks, black on black on black, a layer of knives encircling her like a cocoon. She drowned in it, fell apart in it, slipped down and down into that endless sea of soft, hard, violent darkness. Fara’s face emerged from the sea of it, and she pushed it back down into the inky black, her mouth twisted open in glee as she watched it vanish into nothingness. Crawling, hands on knees, through the tangle of knives - his yawning mouth splitting open in two like the back of a butterfly, of a moth writhing.

And his eyes, white on white on white, piercing the night. Like the cracked surface of the moon. Like... like. Like the milk-white of essence, leaking down his face, leaking down her own. She tasted it, revelled in it,

and  
  
slipped under.

Made whole.

Ecstacy.

—

“You are doing well now, skekSel,” muttered Scroll Keeper, waving a claw-fork in her direction, a lopsided cake half-eaten on his plate. “Yet you must be careful... Emperor, well. He is not always so easily pleased these days.” 

Ornamentalist nodded, dribbling tea down his front as he failed to sip from the cup. As much as it amused her - almost horrified her - she kept her tongue to herself. “Ohh yes! Wonderful and excellent though our majesty may be, he is also - well well well, what’s that word you used the other day?” He glanced towards Scroll keeper, tapping his tea cup.  
  
“Cantankerous?”   
  
“Cantankerous!”   
  
They both repeated the word, and Seladon wondered what gave them the comfort to speak in such brazen tones. Had the castle guard whispered the same about her?   
  
“Then... is it advice you wish to give me, my Lords?”   
  
Ornamentalist tilted his tea in her direction, dripping it from his cup.  
  
“Exactly right!”

Scroll Keeper nodded in agreement, “And, I suppose you are going to ask us ‘why’, yes?”

“Perceptive of you,” she smiled.

“You’re stunning rise has been, oh, my favourite drama in fifteen trine!”

“That is certainly a factor, yes. It is causing quite the stir among our ranks. Some of us are feeling... displaced.”  
  
She titled her head, a small smirk touching her lips.  
  
“Then they, too, acknowledge me. Better still... You two must expect my seat to be kept. Why else would you choose to dine with me so publicly in the face of such controversy?”   
  
They glanced between one another.   
  
“Well, All Maudra, my Lord -“ Ornamentalist began, but Scroll Keeper leaned forwards and across the breakfast table, cutting him off .  
  
“Of course we support you. You have won the Emperor’s favour... for now, at least... Swallowed up Gelfling before our very eyes. Dished out punishment against friend and foe alike, without remorse! It is that strength of character that a brilliant leader makes.”  
  
To be described so monstrously... To be described so kindly...   
  
“And we would never feel displaced. skekOk and I... our positions are less rocked by the political tides,” he tittered, managing finishing the last of his tea. “So your coming, it is only exciting. We reap only the benefits.”   
  
“And for the Skeksis, those benefits come aplenty,” she said, glancing between them. “You feast from the same cup that I have ensured stays overflowing.”   
  
“Exactly, dear skekSel, I could not have put it better myself,” Scroll Keeper hummed, laughing to himself. “Well, the skill of the orator and the quill are quite di ff erent things. The stories I will write for you will be just marvellous, incredible!”   
  
She watched as Ornamentalist rolled his eyes to himself - not subtly at all, but skekOk did not seem to notice - putting his teacup down.

“So, All Maudraaa, when exactly is it that you plan on doing something... All Maudra-y. Do they miss you out there?”  
  
“Actually,” she said, leaning back into her seat. “I do plan on arranging an important meeting, very soon. It is why I agreed to this brunch, in fact.”   
  
She glanced between them. Though not the strongest of the flock, they were those she could rely on right now. Yes. They had admitted that they could afford to keep their loyalties flippant as they remained comfortable enough in their seat off to the side... but she could hardly ask General, nor Ritual Master. Both had treated her like a ghost, skulking around at the edges of her vision, her mother’s blood still stained on their cloaks.

  
“I will be travelling to Ha’rar, for... diplomatic reasons. After Maudra Fara’s fall, I must see if amends can be made with Maudra Laesid. I had hoped that you might be able to accompany me.”   
  
“Ahh! Well, now. There’s a thought,” Scroll Keeper hummed to himself, poking at his cake.

“At least you wouldn’t be going down to that damp and dreary place where those dreadful Drenchen live,” Ornamentalist crowed, closing his eyes and nodding sympathetically to himself.  
  
“Ahh, yes, the Sog... It has been quite some time since I last made the journey, though... All Maudra, perhaps,” he looked towards her, tilting his head. “Perhaps it would be wise to invite skekSil on the journey. The Chamberlain is quite the diplomat - ah, not as diplomatic as myself, of course - but I expect he would of use to us, here.”

“The Chamberlain...” she repeated, hovering over the possibility. “I have not seen him at our recent dinner parties. Does he, too, keep himself busy in the basement?”

Scroll Keeper shook his head, “Oh no, no.”

Ornamentalist interjected, “Well, sometimes.”

“... Alright, _sometimes_, yes. He skulks around with Scientist, trying to fill him with grandiose ideas. But no, that’s not the reason he has not been present as of late. He, well...”  
  
“Remember what we said earlier? Cantankerous!”   
  
“He lost the Emperor’s favour?” She asked, remembering the way he had screamed at General and felt her heart swelling to the memory.   
  
They both nodded.   
  
“But that is not to say that he cannot be used!”  
  
“Exactly, I expect he would be more eager to prove himself, in fact.”  
  
She expected that the day would not go smoothly.  
  
She expected that she would need all the muscle she could muster.  
  
She expected that what they said was true, and besides - any asset she could use right now, no matter how lowly, was to her advantage. A helpful hand in a trying hand was more remembered than one in prosperity.   
  
“Then... where will I find him?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended for this piece to be very long, so my apologies if it feels quite meandering / all overt he place so far - I'm hoping I can tame this into something a little bit more plot driven, though the primary focus should remain Seladon's mentality and her relationship with skekSo 
> 
> So, thank you once again for sticking through & reading! As per, any feedback is most appreciated, and thank you all for all of your kind words so far.


	5. Chapter 5

The velvet sky hung heavy above them; thick clouds a deep rolling black that stretched to the limit of the horizon. Sunset still dimly lit the edges - marbled with a burnt out orange and stripped blue, just a single shred of colour against the black.

She had been on her way to retire to her chambers, to rest in a bed the dwarfed her size in a room dedicated to a Skeksis who, she was promised, would never require it again. Yet, as she had been walking, she caught sight of _him_ . Her eyes almost failed to catch Emperor standing by the balcony, his figure oozing black, the remnants of light just catching silver in his cloak.

She paused, watching his back, his head tilted up towards the starless sky. He looked as though he was seeing through the clouds, as though searching for something. It was rare to find him alone, and perhaps he wished to remain that way - to continue his... observations. Yet.

The thought of speaking to him, _alone_, without the judging eyes and chattering of every Skeksis upon her... She felt her chest tighten, a smile pressed to her lips.   
  
“My lord...”   
  
She spoke, voice low and hushed, rustling like silk. It did not seem to displease him, though he did not lower his head.   
  
“My Emperor,” she repeated, his title sweet in her mouth.   
  
He moved, then, a sigh emerging from the depths of his throat. Approaching him, her robes shimmered blue as she stepped out into the balcony, this half-light carving out their edges. He was easier to see, up close, though his figure still loomed above her, his eyes shadowed under long lashes. He looked... like a skull, his flesh wrapped tight to the bone, shadows hollowing out his cheeks.   
  
“What is it?”   
  
He tilted his head, the gleam of an eye emerging like a moon from the clouds.

“My wise and gracious Emperor, soon, I will-“

He waved his hand dismissively, turning his head away from her with a low ‘bah’. His face titled back up to the empty sky, and her voice caught in her throat.

“I... Have I offended you, my Lord?”

Was it the wisdom or the grace that he was objecting to?

“Must you speak to me like that...?” His hand flashed towards her, nails glinting. “Like a whimpering Gelfling snivelling for approval. It makes my head ache.”

“... Emperor, does it not please you, to be reminded of your grace and wisdom...?”

He chortled at that, a cold sort of laugh.

“To be reminded of it implies I have forgotten. Worse, that _you _have forgotten.”

She stared at him, her years of training fumbling in her mouth. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps when her heart swelled at being called good, and loyal, and clever, and righteous, and honourable... all those ornate fineries bestowed upon her at her at court, perhaps they were all rotten and lies because they had to be said at all. Perhaps her enjoyment of them revealed only her own doubt.

  
She lowered her head, until she heard his laughter again.   
  
“I’m only kidding, my most polite and stately _Princess_. I know the ways my people taught you.”

He sighed, head tilting away from the sky once again.

“I just tire of all this... ritual, pomp, decorum. You hear the same for a thousand trine and eventually all hollow praise turns to dust.”

“We cloak ourselves in it, Emperor. Those rituals give us our clothes,” she stated, calmly, her heart hammering in her ears. “It is what separates us from the Podling, after all. Civility... is order.”

He hummed at this for a while, and she took heart that he seemed to genuinely consider her words. Fingers coiled under his chin, he murmured, “Do you see any Podling before you? Any Gelfling? Any Skeksis? There is only ourselves to impress on one another.”

She thought of her mother, washing the makeup from her face, gossiping casually to Tavra about the other Maudras.

“Unless you’re insecure.”

The way she would play with Brea’s hair, blow her raspberries to make her giggle, practically on command.

“Do you still believe I see no civility in you?”  
  
Yet, when they were alone... Did she really ever let her guard down?

“No, of course not,” she blurted. ”You _accepted_ me, after all.”

He hummed.  
  
“Correct, skekSel. And I am still waiting to see who you are.”

(And he would see, in time - when the three brothers shone brilliantly above this same balcony and she stood on its edge, her wings spread around her. When she was naked and the wind pinpricked across her skin, her head held high as she gazed down at him - he, on the ground, wheezing up at her as his long black shadow stretched far behind him and the light through her wings cut rainbow slashes across his face.  
  
Her nakedness, the crystalline gaze of her wings, her blonde hair haloed in the sunlight like a brilliant star.  
  
He looked at her wide-eyed and gasping like he was looking at the past, like he finally understood who she was.)   
  
“What is it you will bring to this castle? I see what makes you different from all the other Gelfling, you who drinks them without remorse. But what makes you different from other Skeksis - your snivelling? Your decorum? I receive my fill of that from Chamberlain.”

She had never been asked - never - to reveal _herself_ before.

“I will bring you peace,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “Unlike any other. One that benefits you, personally, my lord. Your cup.. shall run, overflowing forever.”  
  
“General could see to that,” he said, though his voice seemed gentler.  
  
“Yes, but he would see your stores run dry in his haste to please you. In his ... thrill for violence. I know the Gelfling, my lord. Their beliefs, their desires - what motivates and moves them, how best to hold them with a firm hand. And they respect me. There is no ... snivelling in my voice when I speak to them.”

He nodded, though she could not see his expression, a clack of his jaws indicated that he seemed agreeable to what she was saying.  
  
“I will have them breed for you. A small group, selected for their... suitability. You see, not only do I know Gelfling, but I know their taste.”   
  
She felt his hand touch chin, thumb hovering over her lip. Yes. These kinds of memories pleased him. She stiffened.   
  
“Yes. I ... promise you, less Essence in the short term than General can provide, but I will see its quality improve. Flavours beyond imagining. Youthful strength forever in our veins, and all the Gelfling will still sleep peacefully in their beds, the majority kept safe, kept fed, kept happy in exchange for... our exalted pleasures.”   
  
His finger scratched against her throat, but she held strong.

“We must resist temptation, for the good of all Gelfling, for the good of all Skeksis. It is the correct thing to do, as their ruler.”

She lifted her hands to cover his, holding it in place against her chin, against her throat.

“And I will be here to remind you to.. be Emperor first, skekSo second.”

His name was holy in her mouth, her eyes narrowing as she said it.

He leaned down to her face, the cut of his moon-shaped headpiece ghosting her scalp, his eyes level with hers.   
  
“And if the choice comes to it, will you be a Skesis first, Gelfling second?”  
  
She sighed, reaching for his face, feeling out its shape in the pitch black, running her fingers along imagined bone.   
  
“However you would prefer to have me, skekSo. There is no power without sacrifice.”  
  
His voice darkened, the night air crisp on both their skins.   
  
“You really are _snivelling_, aren’t you?”   
  
“And you really are _cantankerous_, aren’t you?”

This was her choice. As All Maudra, Seladon long since buried - locked away like Brea in her room, trapped inside a bubble of her own grief. This was her choice. For them. For all of them.   
His hand on her throat tightened, his voice growing soft, “Ah, now that’s better.”

The night wound in between them, the remnants of the sunset giving out.

* * *

She flung herself into her bedsheets, rows and rows of skulls hanging above her with their empty eyes staring down. The room groaned with the dead; soiled furs and bones prodding from every corner and every creature stuffed and reimagined, frozen forever in a state of perpetual fear. Whoever this room had once belonged to had the most morbid soul, its dark reflection suffocating her.

She sank into the sheets, pulled them over her head, tried to escape the image of all those dead and dying souls pressing up against her, groaning for their redemption, wailing at their fate.

She sobbed.

Just one, long, bitter sob.

And that was all she allowed.

* * *

Morning came, and she was to leave this place for the first time in weeks. Daylight cracked through her window and lit the dust of this room, the specs of it drifting aimlessly.

Holding the sheets against her, she gazed darkly around the room. She felt... strange, in her nakedness. When she did not have her clothing, her makeup, her veil full of promise. She had once loved being alone. Now, it left her vulnerable to reckless thoughts - now, it left her full of fear that they were speaking of her, behind these doors, plotting when would be the best time to end this cruel joke and throw her on the crystal.  
  
Yet, they came for her - a knock on her door, a croaking voice calling that “All Maudraaaa, the carriage will soon be ready,”, she felt herself swell with relief, with... adoration. “Get dressed, make yourself beautiful. Well, as beautiful as _you_ can!”

It was sweet, wasn’t it? They were sweet, in their own ways.

She thought of Emperor, his voice sighing in the darkness, that shared exhaustion that came with the burden of ruling.

She slid out of bed, and put on her silks.

Layer after layer.

* * *

“Chamberlain,” she bowed, her crown firm upon her head.

“All Maudra!” He cooed, voice lifting high above her. “How exciting to see you, yes?”

His presence was overwhelming near immediately, skekOk fumbled impatiently by her side.

“Yes, yes - I, too, am excited to see how you two get on. However, can we please get in the carriage? It is freezing out here,” Scroll Keeper barked, eyes shifting between them and Ornamentalist. 

“Ahhh, I agree,” Ornamentalist nodded, pushing his way in front. “Ladies first, isn’t it?” He giggled as he looked towards Seladon, her words still clearly fresh in his mind.   
  
“I am a Lord, skekEkt. You may proceed,” she lifted her head, glancing back to Scroll Keeper. “And you may follow before your fingers freeze. However would you turn the pages of books without them?”  
  
“Ah, thank you, kind All Maudra, your mercy will not soon be forgotten.”

She titled her head back towards Chamberlain as the other two performed the ... cumbersome task of hauling themselves into the carriage.   
  
He was already humming to himself - the... snivelling that Emperor had warned her of, perhaps?

“You are doing good job,” he pronounced, his smile widening. “Yes, yes. I hear all about you. Whispering everywhere. New Skesis in our ranks! Whole world turn topsy-turvey!”   
  
“And who exactly is _whispering_?” She asked, mouth tightening. “It has been declared, by the Emperor themself. Just because you were not invited to the table does not mean it was done in secrecy, Chamberlain.”   
  
Surprisingly, he did not seem offended by this - his smile lingering.  
  
“Ah! Yes, yes, of course! Naughty Chamberlain has been cast out of Emperor’s court, now new Skeksis with name like mine claims Emperor’s favour.”

His mouth opened slightly, a long ‘mmmm’ humming between them as he weighed up his next words. She glanced over to the carriage, skekOk still struggling to be hauled into its enormity.  
  
“Mmmm yes, yet new Skeksis with name so familiar... he still ask me to join him in his journey. Why is that?”   
  
He tilted his head, looking at her expectantly - and yet, just as she opened her mouth to speak, he leaned forwards and filled it for her.

“It is because of whispers, isn’t it? Skeksis angry. Gelfling angry. Whole Thra, angry.”

Blinking, she stared back into his eyes.

“No, I asked you to come as a... favour, on Scroll Keeper’s most merciful suggestion. You are a man of diplomacy, are you not? If I feared the whispers of war, then it would be General I would ask to share my carriage. And...”

She stepped forwards, looking up at him, defiance filling out her face.

“If you wish to soothe that anger as much as I do, then it is best you take a seat by _my _side. Unless...” She glanced towards Scroll Keeper, hearing him mumble something about these ‘blasted contraptions’ and Scientist’s failings. “You prefer this seat out here, in the cold?”

“Mmmm, mmmmhmmm,” Chamberlain murmured a while, before extending his hand out in front of him, bowing his head.  
  
“Carriage awaits, All Maudra.”  
  
She looked at him for a moment, his smile growing.

“Seat much warmer in there.”

She nodded, following the direction of his hand. Refusing skekOk’s help, she pulled herself in, only glancing over her shoulder momentarily.

Chamberlain simply stared, vacant expression betraying nothing but his innocent smile.

* * *

Returning to Ha’rar was... difficult.

She found, despite herself, she was giving into sentimentality. These wide yawning mountains that carried so much detail in their eaves, with dramatic shadows or plain faces that seemed designed to reflect the sun. The air that tasted fresher and sweeter than anywhere else, in this place where rivers began, where walking these peaks was like walking the roof of Thra. The view from the castle onto those low, flat, marshy wetlands - rolling on and on into a great vast nothing was simply not as enjoyable as these peaks that all cried home.

As the carriage tilted and the steeper ground rose up below them, she felt herself growing more excited, her fingers cloying over one another. Excited, on one hand, for those glass walls and gleaming jewels and pockets of light that filled every corridor. For her bed. For her memories. For her sisters. Nervous, on the other, for those exact reasons.  
  
Lost in thought as she stared out of the curtained window, gazing at the distant peaks through the cloth-mesh, she blinked vaguely as she heard Ornamentalist’s voice.  
  
“He’s asleep again, ohhh hoo, he just can’t keep himself awake.”   
  
Glancing back, she saw Scroll Keeper resting, his head coiled on Ornamentalist’s shoulder, his beak open and dripping a thin line of drool.

Chamberlain shook his head, “Let him rest, will be long day ahead, yes? May need strength.”

Yes. Of course, they may well need that. Who knew if the Drenchen would come with olive branches or spears in their hands?   
  
“Well, there will be no excusing his lateness on tiredness!” He squawked, running a claw affectionately through skekOk’s hair, removing the strands that had fallen into his mouth. “I certainly won’t be taking minutes again!”

“Mmm hmm, his minutes are no good. Never accurate.”

SkekEkt laughed at this, “No, skekSil. That is _exactly_ why they are good. He always records the drama, just right! I feel as though I am there myself, reliving it in a new light.”

Seladon turned her face away from this, closing her own eyes, sighing gently.

Home. She would be home soon.

But it wouldn’t be the same her, would it?  
  
The crystal’s gaze was upon her, and she was split in two.

* * *

That evening, when the carriage finally rolled into the castle’s stables, when she saw a Gelfling face that was not her own reflection... she felt the sob return from her bedroom in the Skeksis’ castle, as though it had chased her all the way here.

She refused to give into it, laughing merrily as skekEkt slipped on his way out of the carriage, landing gracelessly in the mud.   
  
“Now, now. Don’t fret. I hear mud does wonders for the skin,” she’d said, provoking violent laughter from them all, Ornamentalist dizzily commanding the nearest Gelfling to clean his skirts.

“Good job, All Maudra, good job,” she heard Chamberlain grumble in her ear again, seemingly for nothing. Her sharp gaze rolling up to meet his, and his teeth were showing. “Crying would do no good, now would it? Not childling, anymore.”

His words felt like a violation, like he’d undressed her.

“I was never a childling,” she stated, “Just like the rest of you. I was born with a role that usurped all other things.”  
  
The laughter dead in her throat, she proceeded on ahead, Chamberlain’s whimpering still sharp in her ears.

* * *

Her bedroom was plain. Devoid of any... childish things. And so unlike her borrowed room at the Skeksis’ castle - it lacked any stately grandeur asides from the hanging unamoths that slept soundly in their cocoons above her bed. She had thought of them as stars, growing up. Distant planets. Mother had told her not to give too much thought to such things, after all, her job would be to care for the people of Thra - not those beyond the stars.

She thought of Emperor, staring up into the pitch black, his back to her.

Would he have seen stars, when he looked at them? Little cocoons, faintly glowing gold and red and green and blue. Pulsing with life. With promise.

Nothing else in this room had that. Just things she had once thought ornate - a simple chest of drawers, a vanity with a gilded mirror. But these things were only a few hundred trine old, at best. None of this, not even the trinkets bestowed on them at the tithing, compared to the true treasures of this world. The singular treasure at the heart of it all, the _Crystal_.  
  
She had the Crystal pulsing in her bloodstream, now. That which they were all reduced to, eventually. So how could she look on her old bed, her own clothes, her old windowsill so full of dusty old memories of a young, foolish girl who knew nothing of the world and still feel so much _affection_?

Aching, she chided herself. Chided herself for even choosing to return to this room - this was not where she belonged, anymore. She had rights to the All Maudra’s chambers, to all her mother’s pretty little gifts and bribes. Yet she couldn’t face all that, not yet. She could deal with her own memories, her own grief. She did not want to shift through a... a traitor’s things. To even touch them.

Everything was soiled now, wasn’t it?

Sitting in front of her vanity, she breathed heavily, looking at her reflection. It was strange, sitting on a seat meant for her size. A mirror cut for her frame. She felt ... huge, here. Like she had walked back into a doll’s house, gone back in time. 

Soon, she would have to face the Maudra.

Soon, she would have to face her sisters.

She had to see them, didn’t she..? No matter how heavy the guilt, how angrily her guts squirmed at the thought of seeing Brea’s face again, at the thought of Tavra’s disappointment.

And just as she felt that scream creep back up into her throat, she held a knocking on her door. Glancing towards it, she heard Skeksis chirping, the handle turning before she could even beckon them in.

Adjusting her mask, rubbed her eyes, a confident smile locking into place.

“Ornamentalist... what brings you here? Shouldn’t you be preparing for the meeting?”

“I thought the All Maudrraa could use a little pick-me-up before it all begins. Ohh, I don’t know about you, but I find all of these sorts of things so dreadfully dull.”   
  
Arrogant of him to assume that he would be the pick-me-up she needed, but she steeled herself.

“... Yes, you are not alone in that. Though, I expect there will be much to excite you. Laesid is not an amicable character.”  
  
Ornamentalist crossed the room, shaking his head.   
  
“Well, well. I am most excited to seeing what comes of it, afterwards. Do you think the Drenchen will taste like seawater? Ohhh, I do like a bit of salt, though too much ruins my complexion. It is bad for the blood vessels. Drives me to sickness.”   
  
Seladon turned away, facing the mirror.  
  
“Bide yourself, Ornamentalist. I plan not on bringing back Drenchen corpses from this meeting. If Laesid complies, we must forgive.”

She watched as slid behind her, the background of the mirror that once reflected her room now an endless layering of fabrics.  
  
“Emperor won’t be pleased to hear that, All Maudra. Ohh, he won’t be pleased _at all_. “  
  
The faux wail was accompanied by a sharp giggle, skekEkt’s hands suddenly disappearing into his silks.  
  
“You must bring something back... something to replace ... _This!_” He popped a couple of vials of essence from his pockets, waving them into the reflection, their surfaces winking.

She gasped, glancing up at him in the mirror, their expressions meeting.

“You... stole that, from our stores? Those vials must be strictly counted, skeEkt.”

“Oh, come on. _Live a little_!” He waved the vial. “I brought this one for you! Well... alright. I originally intended it for skekOk, but that slovenly Scroll Keeper drooled all over my favourite petticoat. Ahh, so celebrate! Calm the nerves! Whatever excuse you need!” 

She paused, picking up the vial, touching the smooth edges of it. Scientist really did make these bottles beautiful, didn’t he? And the essence itself, it shimmered even without light.  
  
“I suppose... we would only need a couple, to replace these. It is little to ask for all Laesid has done.”

SkekEkt crowed in approval, the rings that hung from the sides of his jaw jangling excitedly.

“Wonderful! Wonderful!”

He popped the lid off his bottle, drinking and singing to himself. She focussed on her own, rubbing her thumb along it contemplatively. Whose memories would she steal now? Whose first experiences, whose last? A thrum of thoughts and feelings beyond taste, beyond thought. She wondered what it was like to dreamfast while drinking essence, to lie down and sleep, to ride on the back of a landstrider into the deep, dark woods?  
  
She did not drink. Not yet.  
  
As skekEkt finished, he seemed to glow, his whole body writhing on the spot as he danced gleefully. Then, without warning, he immersed his hands into her hair, brushing it out with his talons.  
  
His touch was... oddly relaxing. She hummed, closed her eyes.   
  
“Normally, I have the Podlings do this,” he muttered. “But they can never do it right, not the way I like, not with this much hair. And oh, what pretty, pretty hair you have, All Maudra. So long, so bright.”   
  
She felt his hands on her scalp, pulling lovingly at every strand, twirling it playfully. She remembered when she would do this for Tavra, and later Brea. Twisting their hair into braids so that they might look like proper Vapran, gently scolding their lack of care.   
  
“Is yours natural?” She asked, eyes half-opening, narrowly gazing at the mirror.   
  
“Once it was, perhaps with enough essence, it will be again!” He laughed. “I am thinking of a change, of colour, of perspective.”  
  
“Is that right? What colour are you thinking of?”   
  
She remembered Brea squirming in her seat, pretending that the brush hurt with every stroke when she got bored of the braiding-game, yelling for mother because the bristles hurt her impatience. Oh, Brea. She never stopped being defiant, did she?  
  
“Ohhh, I don’t know. A blonde, maybe? Platinum with an edge of purple.”

She opened her eyes then, a shudder rising up from her stomach as skekEkt’s face leered near hers, both their gazes fixed on the mirror and one another.  
  
“Something just like yours, skekSel.”  
  
She felt him pulling at her hair, so, so lovingly. One yank and it would all be his to thread poorly to his scalp. She simply leaned towards his face, humming to herself.  
  
“I think the red rather suits you, though. The colour of passion. Dramatic.”

The Ornamentalist giggled, voice lowering.

“Yes, but it is not the Emperor’s favourite colour anymore, is it?”

His hands stopped dead in her hair.

“I used to be his favourite, you know.”

She glanced away from the mirror, skekEkt’s gaze bored into her.

“Yes, he loved my pretty, pretty hair. Still so bright. My skin so youthful, at least compared to his. Oh, it was so fun, discovering all the little things he liked.”   
  
His fingers moved from her hair, travelling to her shoulders.

  
Her back straightened, her gaze returning to the mirror.   
  
“And I know... all about _everything_ he likes, skekSel.”  
  
His face came so close to hers, though she could see he was not looking at her, not really. His gaze still on the mirror, his gaze still on himself, even as his fingers travelled down her arms.   
  
“I see... Then you and he,” she struggled on her words, her face burning.  
  
“Yes. There isn’t a single Skesis I haven’t had at least once, my Lord,” he giggled again, impossible eyelashes fluttering. “Oh, it’s simply adorable how embarrassed you are at the thought.”

She watched his claw lift to her face, stroking the red.

“Embarrassed and inexperienced, I suppose? That simply won’t do,” he croaked, other hand suddenly snapping to her waist, causing her to jump uncomfortably in her seat. She wanted to close her eyes, to shield herself from this. But she refused. She looked at herself, her childling face, her face that had rose up into the jaws of death and still emerged unchanged.   
  
There wasn’t anything she couldn’t survive.   
  
“You frame this as a gift for me, but it sounds as though this for you. Is it that you want to see what Emperor is so enchanted with, is that it?” She held her head high, watched her own expression grow stronger. “Trying to see why he would abandon you, for someone as _ugly_ as I?”

Ornamentalist’s nails dug into her flesh, the claws around her waist squeezing into her ribs. She saw, for the first time, that his eyes were blue.

“I am trying to teach you.”

“And what makes you think you are qualified to do that?” She held his gaze even as his grip tightened. “Emperor sees me as a catalyst for change. A promise of something _new_. Perhaps it is _I_ who can teach _you_.”

SkekEkt’s fingers hurried up her waist, the tip of his nails touching the space between her breasts, her breath growing increasingly shallow.   
  
“Yet, I am not so arrogant to discount all that you know, Ornamentalist. It is why I asked you to join me here, after all.”  
  
He looked confused, the nail on her cheek lifting away as he reached idly for his bottle of essence. She decided he was on the right track, and did the same.  
  
Pulling open the bottle lid, she sniffed the lip of it. Nothing. It smelled like... nothing.   
  
“This lesson will not happen here, however.”   
  
She rose from her seat, turning away from the mirror and looking up at him, both hands now withdrawn.   
  
“And before we begin, you must prove your loyalty to me.”  
  
She motioned for him to follow, knowing she could not bear to have this room soiled with these memories, too. There was a place for this. A place for all things.   
  
“Whatever... whatever you need, All Maudra. Of course!”

She lifted the bottle to her lips, peering over it.

“Give me a piece of your cloak.”

SkekEkt protested, his hands waving erratically. Yet she did not hear his words, did not care for them.  
  
“You will give it to me. Just a shred, one big enough for my dress. A piece that I may carry everywhere, to show your support.”   
  
She paused.   
  
“And you do support me, don’t you?”

Smirking to herself, she turned her back on him and began to walk towards her mother’s room, tilting the bottle up to her mouth. Just before she left, she heard the sound of material ripping, of torn silk.

She smiled, his laughter no longer braying at her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated! This has been a bit of hectic week, but it gave me some time to reflect and decide exactly where I want to take this. A lot of it will still be plotted on the fly and just feeling things out, but knowing where it's going really helps keep me invested.
> 
> Thank you again for your continued feedback, I really appreciate everything you've all said & I hope you continue to enjoy this... wherever it goes! Thank you!!


	6. Chapter 6

Her mother’s room was like being plunged underwater - a confusing, mesmerising mix of undulating memories that stung the eyes she tried to keep open. Great glass windows stared out into the dark, but she knew that just beyond there were sweeping views of snowcapped mountains buried somewhere in the pitch. The same view that her ash had flown down towards, red fire cracking open the night. 

There were no fires tonight besides the one that roared in her chest, her fingers pressed together on the same spot between her breasts that skekEkt had traced his claws. Her heart ran alongside the skin, it seemed, screaming for its release. 

No such mercy. Not tonight. Hush, hush, you’ll be broken in with time. Like anything difficult, it just takes a little bit of adjusting.

The soft glow of the unamoth chrysalis provided no comfort. These bedsheets that she’d once crawled into, sobbing and yearning for comfort back when only a handful of trine belonged to her. These bedsheets where a warm embrace was also met with a warning - that soon such weary weeping would have to be replaced with strength. That soon she would have to have shoulders wide enough for her sisters, for her people, for all the world. 

If that was true then why - why then, mother, did _you_ tremble? 

A mountain isn’t supposed to crumble, you taught me that, in this very room. You taught me, standing by that window, that the mountain lets water flow over it. Lets the rain eventually cut it to its core. But it doesn’t collapse… it creates channels and lets the water flow to the shore. No one drinks without it, Seladon - yet we thank the river but rarely the mountain, the mountain that you must be. 

How then, mother, did you let the sight of rising mist obscure your vision? 

She stared out into the black and thought of the harsh surface of the Claw Mountains, the same she saw gleaming in the afternoon light as the carriage trundled slowly upwards. How easy it would be to just open that window and vanish. Soar down to the sea, where Sifan boats waited, salt spray and a destiny unpaid. Brea would sneer at her, she was sure, if she disappeared on one of those boats - stretched out beyond the horizon, bobbing endlessly into the dark. 

She spread her wings, the light making play across their surface in rainbow caustics. She lifted her wings as high as they would go (still uneven, still far more than an inch away from perfection), and - with a flutter - smacked them right into skekEkt’s shrieking face.  
  
“Still! I said keep them still!” He croaked, and she sighed - a hesitant apology swallowed down. Once again lifting them, the Ornamentalist continued his busy work, stitching a bleeding line of red round the midsection of her dress. 

“I thought you were quite fond of them, my Lord. I seem to recall you eyeing them up like a nebrie looks at mud. Weren’t you dreaming of a new accessory?”  
  
The Ornamentalist’s dark chuckle offered her no comfort, her back seizing as she felt the needle zip across her back. A needle. Only a needle. Not a wandering claw, after all.  
  
“Ohh yes, it’s true. What a lovely veil these wings would make - more lovely than any bride. However…” He was surprisingly delicate with those awkward fingers, threads rushing together as he bled their silks one into the other. “There’s no need to beat me with them! I can see perfectly well that the material would be sub-par quality, after all. Ahh, how a close-up can change _everything_!” 

Seladon couldn’t help but laugh at that, the window looming wider, her gaze now sliding to meet the blue of his eye.

“How can you be so beautiful _and_ so wise? It’s true. Things from a distance cannot tell you anything.”  
  
“Not one thing!” skekEkt laughed, the finishing touches to his design beginning to be tugged into place. 

The room ached into focus, the delirium of memories quickly draining away. It was just a room, after all. 

Up close, it was just a place.

Just a window, a mountain, a body. Just a gelfling and skeksis, a dress the colour of night, now slit with a bright red line of blood. 

* * *

Wings of such poor quality a skeksis would not even want them - that was all she truly owned. That, and a thousand gazes blinking, full of hatred. A courtroom with countless gelfling eyes and six skeksis, all on her - all except those that burned with the most hatred of all. No, hers were cast to the wall behind her. Looking without looking, contempt as palatable as the long, murmuring whine that Chamberlain hummed without end. 

Seladon. adjusted herself on her throne, three skeksis framing her with their impossible mass. Laesid and her band of merry men stood warily on the other side of the hall - and though they stood while she sat, the throne was elevated such that she was still able to look down upon them. This was _her _court.

“I trust the journey from the Sog was a pleasant one, Maudra Laesid,” she smiled and pretended that this was a heart that could be softened. 

“Don’t talk to me of pleasantries, childling,” spat the Drenchen, fingers curling in her furs. “There are gelfling dying everywhere, chaos and calamity right at your doorstop - and all you want is platitudes? Maudra Fara is _dead _and you sit here, all bold and pretty, with her, her murderers!” 

“Then, do you intend to bring chaos beyond my doorstep?” Seladon tilted her head, trying to ignore the fact that skekOk was already beginning to doze off, his weary hands still twitching on his stomach. “Invite calamity into these halls?”

“Where is Maudra Fara’s body?” Laesid stepped across the hall, prompting skekEkt to move from her right as her protection became rippling moat of clothing. Laesid stopped in her place, never once giving the Ornamentalist a glance. 

“Ah, you need me to speak more plainly? I understand. You bog people have no need for… subtly.” Seladon leaned forwards in her chair, aware of Chamberlain’s eyes fixated on her. “Very well. There is something to be admired in being direct.”

“Continue down this path, Maudra Laesid, and there will be war.” 

Laesid grunted, a shake of her head rippling through her locs.   
  
“And where are the bodies of Stone-in-the-Wood? You can’t answer me, can you?” 

SkekEkt laughed, then, beak snapping together in a sharp bark, “Oh, they won’t be needing their bodies anymore.”  
  
“Silence, Ornamentalist,” Seladon commanded, and skekEkt flung his hands over his beak dramatically, like she’d personally taken his tongue from his mouth. “Just I would never interfere with your stitchwork, this is a matter for the All Maudra.” 

“However…” she looked at her subjects, their faces warped in surprise. Yes. That’s right. She was the only gelfling who could speak to a Lord of the Crystal in such a tone without reprisal. She swelled in her seat, her smirk practically glowing. “The Lord is not wrong. Such things are no longer a matter for us. All forfeited their right to return to Thra, such is the fate of traitors.”

“Childling! Can’t you hear what you say? You justify the genocide of your own people. Kill me today, go ahead! Spark a war - but no gelfling will stand by your side while you cower behind your over-ripened monsters.”   
  
“Cowering?” Seladon laughed, waving a hand over her mouth. “No. Laesid, you call me a childling but your many trine have not been kind to you. The bog, it rots your complexion, your mind - but worst of all, I’m afraid it has destroyed your perception. Too long swimming in the mud, I imagine. When something clear comes to you cannot believe it.” 

She leaned into the back of her throne, her eyes rolling towards the ground. “These skeksis listen to me. Obey me. I am a Lord among them, their equal and their authority in matters concerning all gelfling.” 

The gasp that rippled through the room was almost insulting - was it not obvious? Yes. She would survive their hatred. Their judging eyes. Soon, so soon, they would realise how right she had been.  
  
“Mmmmhmmmm, Lord All Maudra speak truth! Skeksis, gelfling - friend! Equal because of him, yes?”  
  
“Chosen by the Emperor himself, ohhhOo” skekEkt giggled, bowing factiously, their flop of red hair waving round their head. 

“Ahh, yes! I agree,” murmured skekOk, dizzily waving a hand. 

“Then…” Laesid took another step forwards, her brows knitting. “Then you drink from their same chalice! Can’t you see, foolish thing, it’s poison! They’ve poised your tiny brain and expect the rest of us to follow like a band of blind crawlies.”  
  
“Enough! Enough of this!” Seladon yelled, leaning forwards, her eyes widening. “You will get down on your knees! You will obey me, not only as your All Maudra, but your Lord! To question them is to question your All Maudra!”   
  
Spitting her title, she held her fingers to her neck, watching as Laesid’s face seemed utterly immovable.“No. I will not bow. You are no All Maudra to me. That was Fara. The title will fall to her maudren.” 

But why..? Couldn’t she see what fate would befall them all if they were to resist? Why were they so stubborn, so prideful and… and filled with expressions no different than the one her mother bore? Why wouldn’t she just _bow_? After everything she had sacrificed - _everything _ (her promise to skekEkt still sticky in her mouth, this dress clinging just a little too tightly, just a little too heavy) - how could Laesid not just do this one thing?

Yet, before she could speak again, Chamberlain raised his voice.  
  
“Will Drenchen Maudra throw away own maudren, wonder, wonder, hmmm?” 

Laesid finally turned to look at him, a sharp double take, mouth slipping open like a fish in air. Seladon could hardly admit she felt any different, her eyes sliding to meet Chamberlain’s.“Gurjin, Naia! Yes, Chamberlain good friend to childling. Provide them room in Crystal Castle! Protect them even from Emperor’s gaze! Scientist _very_ interested in twinsies. Two from one - so rare, so interesting. Wonder what Scientist would have done had Chamberlain not kept secret. But, if Drenchen Maudra will not bow, will not swear loyalty… Sad. So sad! Friendship over!”  
  
Two from one..? She recalled Emperor’s words. Yes. They could not understand motherhood. But it seemed they knew very well how to manipulate it. 

She watched as Laesid’s expression changed. Rolled from anger, to relief, to broiling resentment. 

She watched as a trembling lip was sucked between teeth. 

Seladon sat up in her seat, and watched the mountain crumble into the sea. 

Maudra Laesid, mother to the people of the Sog, was on her knees. 

“Mercy, my Lords.”  
  
Her breath was tired, haggard. The voice her mother should have taken, strong but pleading.   
  
“Mercy. Oh, I am selfish. Mercy.” 

Seladon felt.. relief, that he came to her aid.   
  
No. She did not feel that at all.  
  
Chamberlain’s mouth was contorted with an ugly grin, his eyes gleaming.  
  
That was how she _should _have felt.

Instead, she balled her hand into a fist, her head lowering. 

But for a moment, just for one, there was mercy. 

* * *

She did not visit her sisters. 

* * *

To fall asleep in her own bed - a nest of memories wrapped around her - was like returning to her old cocoon. She didn’t quite fit anymore, one fine seam where she had broken free forever gushing light. No matter how she tossed and turned, she could not will herself back into the time _before_. Before any - before all - of this. 

When she did finally sleep, however, all she could hear was the earth in motion. The roar of plates somewhere far, far below - red hot and pouring, like volcanic ash, like the scales of a giant serpent. 

A voice rang out, singing one sharp red line through the earth - a line that suddenly veined, cracked and spread out. A voice was ringing out across the earth, plunging it all into red. That voice… that voice, she realised, was her own.

And she could taste everything within that red blossom - whatever her voice touched, it resonated deep within her. As though it were just an extension of her, a garden blossoming from her throat. She could feel her way across Ha’rar, across Stone-in-the-Wood, across the Sog. Endless running rivers of red, loose earth churning through her - every hollow, every burrow, every root suddenly there and not there.

No, this was not her voice. 

The earth was cracking, the roots uncurling, the red turning hot and searing and drowning it all out in sea of lava. 

Fara, this was Fara’s voice.

Her scream turned inwards, bile running to the centre of her belly and set alit - but when she woke, she was not screaming. She was _singing_.  
  
And before her very eyes, her chair of marble and glass was hovering. Her throne.  
  
Clasping her hands over her mouth, she suppressed the singing in a tongue she knew nothing about, her heart hammering. Clenching her tongue, she watched as her throne fell with a mighty thud onto her bedroom floor. 

Maudra Fara, the woman she had swallowed, The Rock Singer. 

Her voice in her veins, her holy magic wrapped tight around her throat. 

Fara, oh Fara. 

Why won’t you just stay _dead_ ?! 

* * *

She decided to see her sisters, after all.

* * *

Standing before Brea’s door, she listened to the sound of her own heavy breathing, the sound of her body changing. Skeksis, gelfling, Seladon, Fara - tectonic plates drifting closer and closer together. 

Brea.

What are you thinking right now, Brea? About your selfish sister, your cruel sister, your cold-headed, empty-hearted sister? Are you dreaming the same dream as I - like you always pretended to have when we were younger? 

She pressed her hands against the door, head resting against its surface. 

… Why was there no guard outside? 

Eyes widening suddenly, she fumbled with the handle - was that a voice she heard within her room?! Swinging it open, she stepped in with furious steps, her heart alive with the thrill of having never-once-lost-a-fight. 

And there, standing there, hunched over Brea’s tiny form was a beast that dwarfed her size - eight eyes glinting in the dim book-light. SkekOk. 

“Get out.” 

Seladon’s mouth opened wider, terror seizing her body. The memory of skekEkt’s claws winding over her body, the threat of his touch, the promise that someday, some day soon she would have to give herself over to him.  
  
“All Maudra, please! I was only -“ Scroll Keeper fumbled, dropping the book from his hands as Brea stared at her, wide eyed and dumbstruck. “I said GET OUT!” 

Rushing forwards, she grabbed him by his robes, tugging uselessly at them. “Get out, get out, GET OUT OUT OUT OUT,” she wailed, Gurjin and Naia trembling in their chamber somewhere (but at least, at least they were together. She, she couldn’t even protect her sister from —) “OUT.” 

skekOk tutted irritably, muttering something that she could not hear over the only word she could say - but he skittered away, leaving only the musty scent of his robes hanging in the air. Seladon stood uselessly in the centre of the room, watching the door close behind him, watching it for what felt like hours.   
  
Then, she flicked round, eyes red. Brea’s ears were so low that they almost brushed her shoulders, her mouth making sounds but Seladon could not understand them.

“Did he hurt you?!” She gasped, brows tightening. “Did he touch you??” 

Brea swallowed, shaking her head.

“No, no, he didn’t. It’s alright — Seladon! Calm down!” 

“It’s not all right,” She whispered, though her breathing was beginning to stabilise. “It’s not, not at all.”   
  
When she lifted her hands to her eyes, all she could see was red. 

“Well, you’re the one who put us in this mess,” she heard Brea sob - or, she thought she heard Brea say. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

Seladon lowered her hands, mouth twisting. 

“Aren’t you jealous?”

Brea’s face contorted, her head shaking, “Of what, Seladon?”

“I got to ride in the Lord’s carriage.” 

Seladon smirked, her lashes curling together.   
  
Brea said nothing, but her eyes said everything.

* * *

She could not sleep, so, she summoned the Lords and she, once again, rode in their carriage.

As soon as her feet touched stone again, she vanished into the belly of the castle - loosing herself in its endless black spiralling corridors. Was this where she truly felt more comfortable? In the inky dark that held nothing familiar to her, filled to the brim with secrets and symbols and sigals that had long since fallen out of meaning. Here, in this confusing mess that oozed monsters that just wanted to - to kill, to use, to eat - her, here, was it here she felt more at home than that pristine castle full of memories? 

She ran through the dark, up the spiralling staircase, away from Fara’s voice that seemed to hum constantly now - up and up and up she went, as far away from the ground as she could get. She ran until she found him, his dark shape waiting (yes, she assured her hammering heart, _waiting_) outside of her room. Who had told him? Who had spied them coming?

He was like a piece of darkness pulled free, made manifest, making mockery of these dark walls. She had thought she had known blackness until she gazed upon his onyx cloak, swallowing everything up to his neck.

“skekSel.”   
  
She wanted to pace in place, to let her teeth chatter. But she stilled, she watched his hands instead, how they curled, flexed. What things could those hands do? What would they do? 

“skekSo,” she mirrored, remembering that decorum with him was to have no decorum at all. “Will you not be sleeping tonight?”  
  
“You returned home, then.” He ignored her question, eyes unreadable. 

She inhaled.

“I returned,” she answered, “Though if it is ‘home’, I no longer know.”  
  
He nodded to this, grunting gutterly to himself - but something in his expression was odd.   
  
“Is ‘home’ something you desire, Princess? To return to something?” 

She felt off, she felt a wrongness creeping over her.   
  
“… Is something the matter, my Emperor?”

“Answer me,” he stated plainly.   
  
“I… would you not miss the comforts of the castle, if you were called somewhere else?” She hesitated.

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing, “That is not what I asked.” 

He had asked her, once, if she wanted to return to her mother. She knew the answer that had pleased him, and so she took a step forwards.

“Would you like me to burn it, skekSo?” She reached a hand upwards, touching the tip of a claw. Yet, he ripped his hand away, his face suddenly full of fury.

“I won’t ask you again!” He shrieked, though his voice split open like poorly made rope, edges fraying as he began to cough. “Pr..” Another cough, “incess, do .. you… want… to go hom-“ he hacked, bent over, and turned away from her.   
  
It took her a moment to process what was happening - to see him stoop, whole body contorting angrily with the exertion as he ran from her. Yes. It was… it was, she could barely bring herself to think it but… it was a pathetic sight. 

She watched his disappearing figure for a while, robes whirring into the darkness, before following after him. How could something so huge, so ancient, move with such agility? She could hear him, though, the sound of his struggling throat closing in around her as his coughing echoed down the corridors. The sound dampened as he threw himself behind a door that was hard and heavy for her to push open, but she did so despite herself. Ah, he’d found himself a bathroom - a hole in the roof large enough to bring in fresh air and the night sky, two moons winking in its frame.

He was on the floor, body heaving against the broken tiling, black ink dripping from between his beak. His wheezing, she had heard only one thing like this before. A downed landstrider, a leg snapped and pale bone jutting into the cruel afternoon air. She had ordered it be put down, but Brea … Brea had insisted they give it a chance - and she, younger then, allowed that careless cruelty to go on only with a roll of her eyes.

_"For Aughra’s sake, Brea, it’s only a landstrider.”_  
  
Yet, she too had wondered then, how something so majestic and so large could possibly ever fail. Its weak wheezing, shock taking hold of its system, pain causing it to spasm. It was not sorrow she felt, like Brea, not empathy - but awe. Yet, she remembered, it was only when she looked to Tavra to share a laugh over Brea’s melodramatics that she saw that both her sisters were weeping. 

How utterly alone she had felt then. Like she was not even of this planet. 

And as the landstrider’s breathing continued to falter, she had demanded - not out of empathy, but just to spite the faces that rejected her, that embarrassed her with their soppy irrationality,  
  
_“Kill it._”  
  
Brea told her that she hated her after a spittle of how-could-yous, but Tavra had simply said nothing, and. It was that that had hurt more. 

Yet now, as skekSo clawed at the floor, his body growing weak with the exertion, she felt that wave of awe once again. This creature, older than she could possibly comprehend, who had seen kingdoms rise and blister and tumble, seas change course, the stars align and fall apart - how could he falter now while she stood so serenely? 

There was no one to ask to kill it. 

There was only herself.  
  
Kneeling by his side, she clasped the side of his gasping head, pulling it to her lap. He had stopped vomiting whatever it was that his body was rejecting, his mouth only heaving breath, now. Even that seemed difficult, as though each inhale was like scraping rock against rock, the pestle tuning in its mortar. 

She watched him, his mouth opening and closing, the random juts of teeth that adorned his peak now twitching. His tongue lashed then lolled, his eyes flittering then rolling. 

She could kill him now.

End this.  
  
End some part of this.

They had slit the Landslider’s throat, Brea hugging into her shoulder while she wailed, its dark blood fading fast into the earth.  
  
She touched the sides of his collar, grasped one of many knives that jutted from his neck. 

And then, his eyes snapped open - rolled up towards her with sudden urgency. The hands attached to his back crawled up and across his body, weakly grasping at her wrists. 

His throat contorted weakly, paper-thin voice slipped into the air,  
  
“I don’t want… I can’t di-“  
  
“You won’t.”  
  
She broke the knife from his collar, using it to slit the weak rope that had tied the remains of a vial of essence that skekEkt had given her the night before. Grabbing the lid with her teeth, she ripped it open and poured its remains into his feverish tongue, his body scrambling beneath her. 

“You won’t,” she trembled, the last of it dribbling white and sparkling. The taste of first-time experiences, of learning to walk, of learning to talk, of mother - father - hammering, pulling the till, the sense of glory after a job well done. She gave him all of this, and he rose - revived, breathing, _brilliant_. 

And dangerous. 

So, so dangerous.

He rose to look at her, back hands pushing himself up to sit on his knees, rising up and up and up above her. Memories that were not his own danced gleefully in the white of his eyes, his mouth curling into a soft, tittering laugh. 

She smiled, laughed - too, relief spilling through her until leaned over her, true hands reaching up to her throat.

”Why?” He hissed, though joviality graced his voice, though the hand clasped to her neck did not tighten. 

She stared up at him, eyes piercing through the dark, “I could ask you the same. Why did you spare me? Answer me honestly, please.”

And for once that night, someone told her something that was not cruel.

His mouth was shaking, beak slipping behind her ear. 

“Because,” his voice was high, now, almost feminine. “B..because of your will to live. To preserve yourself as an individual.”

She closed her eyes, clinging to his shoulder like Brea, now. 

His voice continued, oscillating, low and heavy.   
  
“You’re just a thing of Thra. One thing turning into the next. Time is just one long circle, for you,” he laughed. “Of the thousand trine I’ve lived, how many things have you been? If I punctured you, what memories would come flowing out? You don’t even know.” 

He was one straight line of black ink, running out, brush scratching against the paper. 

“Yet you cling to _this_ life, yes. You cling to it. Do anything for it.” 

He chittered, laughter rising.“Can you blame me? I have been so bored, skekSel. So, so tired. Waiting for something _interesting_.Your little song and dance _interested_ me. That is all.” 

She trembled as the tears came. 

She was not strong, after all. 

Not strong enough for this at all. 

“I need to show you something,” she said - turning her face away from what she had to take as a kindness, her body drenched in sweat.

“Is it to do with the Drenchen? The Drenchen bore me.” 

“No, no,” she stated, closing her eyes, squeezing out the last of the salt she would allow. “Something else entirely. Something that… will… will interest you.” 

Inhaling, she began to sing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience - I was on holiday for three weeks & while I aspired to write, the sun and the heat conspired against me. Being back home in dreary, wintery weather seems to have drawn the muse back out of me! 
> 
> I'm not totally happy with this chapter & I might edit some scenes to flow a little better in future, but for now, please enjoy! Any feedback, as always, is deeply appreciated. Thank you.
> 
> Edit: I should probably add - I normally like leaving things up to interpretation, but since this comes from the novels, I think I should provide some clarity. Each gelfling clan has a magic unique to them, perfected or perhaps performed only by the Maudra / their heirs. Fara’s, as far as I can find, has not been confirmed - so I just made it up based on her title (which is in line with Laesid - the Healer). I hope this wasn’t too confusing!


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